


The Storms of Life

by backtoblack101



Series: Some May Condemn These Vile Affections [1]
Category: Agent Carter (TV), Marvel Cinematic Universe
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, F/F, Past Peggy Carter/Steve Rogers
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-03-20
Updated: 2015-03-20
Packaged: 2018-03-18 16:52:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,471
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3576879
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/backtoblack101/pseuds/backtoblack101
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peggy and Angie are trapped inside during a storm and forced to confront their feelings for one another.</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Storms of Life

**Author's Note:**

> Oh you know just Peggy casually trying to deny herself happiness and Angie refusing to let that happen - aka my favourite version of these two to write.

When Angie had been little her mother had been terrified of thunder and lightning. She still remembers being shepherded under the kitchen table with the rest of her siblings at the first sign of a storm and told in no uncertain terms to remain there until they were sure the skies had cleared. The rest of her siblings would watch then from under the safety of the table as their mother walked a track into the kitchen floor, muttering prayers in Italian for the safety of her children, husband, and home.

Angie didn’t watch her mother’s feet though. Instead she’d nudge her little sister Maria out of the way and peer out the window from behind a table leg, watching in awe as forks of lightning danced through the air and thunder roared from behind heavy clouds.

 For her mother storms like these meant panic, destruction, and even death; Angie though couldn’t help but see beauty in the grey, black storm clouds connected by the rays of white hot light jumping between them. Even the sound of the wind and rain assaulting the outside world, being silenced only briefly by the din of thunder soothed Angie at the same time it prompted her mother to chant another quiet decade of the rosary.

Lightning storms may have scared her mother, but for Angie they felt oddly like home.

-.-.-.-

Peggy Carter could outrun any criminal without so much as breaking a sweat. In her time in military boot camps she’d held records that were the envy of the other cadets on base, male or female, and even now she could outrun most, even in her heels and fancy pant suits.

Put Peggy in a race and you could bet your bottom dollar it would be her crossing the line first; unless of course you told her to outrun the rain.

It was approximately fifteen yards from the garage to the front door of her and Angie’s townhouse. Fifteen yards, and yet by the time Peggy barrelled through the door her hair was stuck slick to her face, her jacket was a saturated mess, and the squelch each time she took a step made her feel as if there were a lake in the bottom of her shoes.

“Angie?” She knew it was early in the day for her to be home, but she also knew Angie had the day off work and the storm had effectively shut down the city, so she’d still been expecting to hear the sound of the radio coming from the living room.

Her call was swallowed up into the silence of the house without reply however, and instinctually Peggy reached for the gun resting against her hip, toeing off her waterlogged shoes before creeping further into the depths of their expansive mansion.

She cleared the ground floor in a quick sweep, finding no note on the fridge door that would allude to where Angie might be, and then moved slowly up the staircase, refusing to allow her fear to be exasperated by the flashes of light that illuminated the darkness around her each time lightning struck outside. It was only the bedrooms on this floor, and she cleared each of them in no time as well, her concern only mounting when even Angie’s room lay empty.

Eventually she reached the stairs that led to the rooftop terrace, and although she deemed it ridiculous that Angie would find herself outside on a day like this she inched up the staircase anyway, knowing she needed to clear the whole house before she could logically allow herself to become worked up.

Much to her surprise though this is where she found her housemate, standing barefoot on the decking, her head tilted towards the sky with water running down her face and dripping from her hair and dress.

“Angie?” Peggy didn’t dare go beyond the open glass doors leading out to the veranda, and thankfully didn’t have to as Angie jumped at the sound of her name.

“English?” The waitress’s voice was muffled by the wind. “What’cha doin’ home?” She stepped back towards the rooftop conservatory, yet didn’t go back inside.

“The storm’s shut down the city, I get a long weekend,” Peggy explained, pushing open the door a little further. “I think the better question however, is what are you doing out there?” She wrapped her fingers around Angie’s icy wrist as she asked the question and pulled her gently back into the warmth of the house, sliding the door closed behind her. “You’ll catch your death on a day like this.”

“Ah you worry too much Peg.” Angie waved her friends concern off with a swish of her wrist, though her body was already beginning to shake at the sudden change in temperature. “I jus’ like lookin’ at the storm clouds is all, and I was only out five minutes.”

“Well by the looks of it that was long enough,” Peggy scolded lightly, giving Angie’s petite frame the once over; she looked smaller than usual with her hair clinging to the sides of her face and her dress hugging every supple curve and jut of her body. “Now go downstairs and run yourself a warm bath, I have a feeling the hospitals will be busy enough over the next few days without having to treat you for pneumonia.”

-.-.-.-

Regardless of the fact Peggy’s day in the office had been cut short the time she had spent there was just as exhausting as usual and so once she was sure Angie was indeed running herself a bath, and not sneaking back up to the roof, she thought it best to make herself some tea, slip into her pyjamas, and curl up on her bed with a good book for the evening.

It really was quite comforting as well. The hot tea ran through her heating her up from the inside, while her dog eared copy of _Brave New World_ filled her nostrils with the smell of old paper, and the storm outside shook the glass in the windows yet never quite managed to penetrate into the warmth that lay beyond. Even her cotton pyjama suit felt fresh against her skin in comparison to her bulky, damp work outfit, and for the first time in too long she felt the tension leave her shoulders as she allowed herself to unwind, actually looking forward to an entire weekend spent without the potential of a call from the SSR.

What was left of her tea had gone cold in the bottom of her cup when she heard a soft knocking on her door. She didn’t bother to call enter, she knew it was Angie, knew she needed no invitation and sure enough not a moment later the door opened just enough for her housemate to slide in; pyjamas and a dressing gown protecting her from the cold she’d so eagerly embraced an hour earlier.

“Mind if I come in?” Her voice was low, like she was afraid of breaking the quiet of the room.

“Not at all.” Peggy patted the mattress beside her as an invitation. “How was your bath?” She asked then, watching Angie cross the hardwood floor and curl up on the bed next to her.

“Warm,” she hummed, fixing the pillows behind her head so she could sit up comfortably.

“Yes well, I expect anything to be warmer than standing on a roof,” Peggy teased lightly. “Did you ever consider simply looking out your window at the storm instead?”

“That’s the thing English,” Angie sighed contently, her eyes even now focused on the rain lashing against the window panes. “At first I was sittin’ on my bed lookin’ out but it wasn’t good enough. I love the feelin’ of it too, y’know… the wind on your face and the rain runnin’ down your nose and the feelin’ in the air every time there’s a rumble of thunder. It just…” She paused for a beat, gathering her thoughts. “It makes you feel alive I guess.”

Peggy hummed. “I know the feeling.” For her it was the adrenaline that coursed through her every time she threw a punch; it was the sharp pain in her fist every time she broke a man’s nose and the satisfying ache in her muscles when she walked away after a fight.

She was glad Angie was able to find her high in a safer place.

“Well anyway, since you’re not allowin’ me back out I figured I’d come in here and look out your window,” Angie continued then, not that Peggy had felt the need to ask why her housemate had come into her room; she quite liked the company. “My room’s at the front so you can’t really see over the buildings. You’ve a much nicer view.”

“Stay as long as you want Angie.”

-.-.-.-

The evening gradually wore into night and still Peggy and Angie remained in companionable silence. Every now and then one or the other would shift, and eventually they found themselves lying on the bed rather than sitting up in it, with Angie’s head resting on Peggy’s shoulder while Peggy continued with her book and Angie remained mesmerised by the storm.

Normally they wouldn’t allow themselves to be this close. It had never been said by either of them yet it was known that there was potential for something to happen that shouldn’t. They both saw it in the other’s eyes and tried at all costs to avoid it when possible; even in a big empty house like this a secret like that wouldn’t be safe, not really.

It was something about the storm though, something that had both of them dropping their guard; for once content in the fact they were completely separate from the rest of the world.

Not that they intended to do anything, at first anyway.

It was the way Angie’s breath tickled the column of Peggy’s neck; how was Angie to know that had always been a weak spot? How was she to know every time Peggy shivered or squirmed it was because of her?

“Could you breathe somewhere else?” Peggy intended to defuse the situation, and she figured her quiet complaint would do the trick.

“Ticklish English?” Angie never had been one for doing what she was told.

Rather than move away she blew deliberate breaths against Peggy’s neck, the agents twitching reactions only spurring her on.

“Angie…” it was Peggy’s attempt to remain stern, yet her tone betrayed her and instead her housemates name slipped passed her lips in a rough whisper.

It was all over after that.

She felt Angie go still against her side and for what felt like an eternity neither woman dared speak, both afraid that words would ruin the moment and at the same time afraid of what it meant that they didn’t want the moment to end.

It was Angie that made the first move. Her face was still resting beside Peggy’s neck, and it was nothing for her to nudge her head a little further forward and press her lips against Peggy’s pulse. Still the movement was excruciatingly slow, and Peggy was sure the tension coiling inside her would spring apart before Angie’s lips even touched her skin. Instead she just sighed and craned her neck to the side, allowing Angie to place a second – and just as hesitant – kiss close to her ear this time; her nose just barely grazing the lobe.

Peggy’s entire body shuddered and instinctively she dropped her book and dug her fingers deep into Angie’s limp curls, pulling the waitress up until their lips met in a kiss; hot and hungry and begging for more.

Peggy often caught herself wondering what it would be like to kiss her friend, though she never allowed herself to dwell on it; either the pang of guilt over wanting to kiss someone other than Steve, or the rush of shame over the feelings she’d developed for Angie put a stop to any unsavoury thoughts.

Still though, it was softer than she’d imagined.

Even with Angie’s mouth pushing against her own and her teeth nipping at the corner of Peggy’s lips there was something inexplicably delicate and caring about the way they were teasing kisses out of one another.

It was a long, loud roll of thunder that eventually drew them back to their senses. Angie pulled her head away like she’d just been scalded, and for a minute just stared down at Peggy, whose hand twitched to reach out and stroke her friend’s cheek or tuck a stray curl behind her ear. Now wasn’t the time for tenderness like that though; their unspoken rule to ignore their feelings had been broken and now in the aftermath all that prevailed was silence and the sound of the storm.

It was another minute before Angie extracted herself fully from Peggy’s embrace and rose off the bed. She didn’t look back when she walked out the door, and Peggy wasn’t sure she wanted her too; wasn’t sure of anything really.

-.-.-.-

When Peggy woke the next morning the house smelled of fresh baking and when she went downstairs to the kitchen she found Angie standing over the counter, sliding scones off a baking tray and onto a plate.

Instinctively Peggy pulled her bed robe tighter around her waist and took a second to calm herself before clearing her throat to alert Angie of her arrival. “Morning.” She wanted to sound casual, but her voice was too pitched, the word too forced.

“Mornin’ Peg!” Angie too sounded like her tone was strained, like her normally light, bubbly personality today came at a great personal cost. “I made breakfast!”

Peggy stalled, having to think of an appropriate response. “It looks wonderful.”

She crossed the tiled floor and sat at the table, ignoring the ache in her chest at the lack of casual chit chat that normally filled the kitchen in a morning they were both able to hang around for breakfast. She watched Angie bring over the plate of scones, placing it next to the butter and jam already laid out. For a moment Peggy thought to say something, say anything about what had happened the night before, though the moment was gone as quickly as it had come when Angie sat down and began to speak, obviously having decided to push herself past the awkwardness.

“So I was on the phone to my ma while I was waitin’ on the scones to bake and she said down that way the storm’s causin’ some real trouble. Then again ma’s definition of real trouble can be anythin’ from a snapped tree twig to an entire block up in smoke, she never was one for weather like this.” Peggy smiled at the way Angie breezed through her story, waving a butter knife in the air rather than using it on the scone she’d cut open.

She knew she should attempt to talk about their kiss, for her own peace of mind if not for Angie’s, but the way her housemate seemed so intent on normalcy stopped her. She knew ignoring it wouldn’t make what happened go away, but if it was an approach Angie wanted to try then Peggy wasn’t going to stop her, after all, she had no better ideas.  

“Though I will give my ma this,” Angie continued, oblivious to the fact that Peggy had gotten lost in her own thoughts half ways through her spiel. “This is the worst storm I remember seein’ anyway. There ain’t ever been a time I remember before this that I couldn’t even get to work.”

Peggy hummed, licking the jam off the tip of her knife – a habit she only ever indulged in whilst in private – before speaking. “Back at home we got storms like this quite often. I remember one winter being forced to stay in boarding school over Christmas because of a snow storm.”

“Awe jeez English, Christmas without seein’ your folks musta been tough,” Angie sympathised around a mouthful of home baking.

“There is something about the season that makes one crave the comfort of home and family,” Peggy agreed absently. “I was in good company though; it was actually quite nice at times.”

“Good company, eh?” Angie meant nothing by the question other than as a way to fill the silence, didn’t even think of what ulterior meaning ‘good company’ could really have.

“Uh yes,” Peggy suddenly became extremely self-aware. “Her name was Helen.” She paused as thoughts of tumbling golden curls, sea green eyes, and pink cheeks dusted with chocolatey freckles seeped to the forefront of her mind from the dark depths of her memory. “We were rather close,” she finished eventually, not caring to elaborate on just how close they were; bodies pressed together under linen sheets pulled up over their heads, their lips touching nervously and their hands ghosting over the top of one another’s night dresses.

The nervous energy that crawled back into the room from under the crack in the door told her she didn’t need to elaborate anyway.

“Oh,” Angie’s voice again sounded forced, shattering through the brief reprieve they’d found from the tension.

-.-.-.-

Angie had finished her breakfast in record time after that, and exited the kitchen without another word, leaving Peggy to clean up; not that she minded. The simplistic nature of the chore gave her time to mull over what she’d said during breakfast and, more importantly, why she’d felt the need to say it in the first place.

Helen Howsam was a ghost now as far as Peggy was concerned. Had been since they were 17 and Peggy had been found with her hand up Helen’s skirt by their Head Mistress. Helen had claimed she was tricked; Peggy thought even one hundred lashes wouldn’t come close to how much it hurt to have Helen turn on her. She’d left for the army after that and last she heard Helen was a home front nurse, set to marry a military doctor.

She put the last plate on the draining board and sighed. It was far too early in the day to drink, yet her head was already spinning, as it often did on the rare occasion she thought back to that time in her life. Her love for Steve had been pure and eternal; something that in spite of the melancholy of their final moments together would always leave her smiling.

Helen however had been different.

She’d been her first love and she’d taken Peggy’s heart right from the start and used it as a plaything; that was the danger with falling in love with someone that didn’t love you back, they didn’t mind abusing the power it gave them. Helen had snuck off to town and gone dancing with boys and come back with hickies barely hidden under the collar of her shirt, and yet Peggy had still trailed along obediently in the evenings or between classes when Helen had told her to meet her behind their dormitories or in a quiet corner of the school.

Rather than find herself in front of the drinks cabinet Peggy found herself in front of the door to the library and she pushed it open with a resigning sigh; she found reading could often darken her moods when she was already feeling down – something that was probably at least in part due to her predisposition for poetry that dealt with unrequited love – yet with the way her day was already going something about the idea of simmering in her own misery seemed oddly appealing.

She stepped slowly around the semi-circular room, her fingers grazing the spines of the books that lined the shelves, finally stopping on a copy of “ _The Ballad of the Harp Player_ ” and sliding it out from its place. She took it with her to the brown leather wingback armchair that rested in the corner of the room and, turning on the lamp beside her, nestled into the corner, intent on staying here and away from Angie for as long as possible.

She opened the book, but didn’t take in the words of the poems in front of her – why did she mention Helen? Under any normal circumstances it was a part of her past Peggy liked to keep to herself; today though, today the topic was more fragile than usual. Granted, for once Peggy felt no fear of persecution, no fear of the disproving glares and icy silences she’d come to detest so much in her final few weeks at boarding school.

She wasn’t afraid Angie would hate her for it, she was afraid Angie would feel the same.

Afraid that last night hadn’t been a mistake, afraid that she was falling in love all over again except this time with someone that had the potential to love her back. When Steve died she’d sworn love off for fear of losing someone else she cared about. Now though it wasn’t that fear keeping her tucked away in the library rather than by Angie’s side, it was the fear of what would happen to Angie, happen to them both, if they were ever to act on their feelings.

Half a life was no life, yet half a life would be all Peggy could offer.

They’d never go to dinner together, never hold hands walking down the street, never kiss goodbye after dates or dance together during a slow song –

She was pulled from her thoughts by a soft _hello_ from the doorway, and when she looked up from the page she’d been absently staring at for god only knows how long she was only slightly surprised to see Angie standing there, her back resting gently against the door frame.

 “What you reading?” She asked quietly, her voice barely traveling to Peggy’s ear.

“Poetry…” Peggy paused, glancing again at the page to remind herself of the poem. “ _What Lips My Lips have Kissed_ by Edna Millay.” She looked back up in time to see Angie nod, then step confidently across the room to sit on the arm chair pouffe next to Peggy’s feet.

“Read me some?” Angie’s tone was casual yet Peggy couldn’t help but feel the same nervous tension seeping into the room that had been present in the kitchen earlier.

“What lips my lips have kissed, and where, and why, I have forgotten, and what arms have lain under my head till morning.” She read each word slowly, delicately, all the while avoiding looking up into Angie’s eyes. “But the rain is full of ghosts tonight, that tap and sigh upon the glass and listen for reply…” She paused here, and in the silence that ensued Angie took opportunity to speak.

“So this Helen girl,” Angie started, but stopped again when she saw the pain in Peggy’s eyes.

“She was very special to me,” was all Peggy said.

“Gina Armenti,” Angie replied after a moment. “She uh… she was real special to me when I was in school too.”

They shared a smile and Peggy put down her book on the same table that held the lamp. For a moment neither of them spoke, neither really knowing how to broach the topic.

“What happened?” Peggy inquired eventually.

“Her ma caught us one time in her room y’know… gettin’ friendly.” Angie shrugged. “Sent her to a convent for a year and when she came back she wouldn’t even look me in the eye.”

Peggy could see the hurt in Angie’s eyes, supposed the same had been mirrored in her own when Angie had asked about Helen. “Our headmistress caught us,” she supplied, if for no other reason than to give Angie something else to think about. “My hand up her skirt, my lips on her neck… she feigned innocence and let me take the blame, I joined the army a month later.”

Angie nodded. “I guess we both know the bad stuff that comes hand in hand with bein’ the way we are then,” she said as if this one silver lining was worth all the pain.

Peggy laughed sadly. “I wasn’t aware there were many perks.”

Angie bit her lip then slowly extended her hand, waiting for Peggy to slap it away. When she didn’t Angie rested it on Peggy’ leg, her fingers curling around her knee and squeezing slightly. For a moment she just left it here, her thumb stroking the side of her knee causing goose bumps to rise, while she tried to phrase what she wanted to say next. She could tell this wasn’t an easy topic for Peggy, heck it wasn’t for her either, but she knew they couldn’t just ignore it.

“The perk…”Angie began slowly, focusing on the slow motions of her thumb against Peggy’s knee rather than looking directly at the woman in front of her. “Is that someday you meet someone that lights up your whole world and that won’t leave you when the goin’ gets tough; someone that you want to be with and someone that wants to be with you, maybe even forever. You get to fall in love and have someone catch you.” She scrunched her nose at how ridiculously corny the last part sounded. “And uh…” Here’s where Angie faltered, where she could feel the lump rising in her throat. “I know you had that with Steve Rodgers so maybe… maybe you ain’t ever gonna feel that way again and I suppose that’s okay, y’know, that’s somethin’ I can learn to be okay with but I just think… I think for a perk as neat as fallin’ in love y’gotta ask anyway.”

“Angie.” Peggy waited until she looked up, her eyes glistening with unshed tears. “What Steve and I had…” She faltered for a moment. “What we had was something I’ll never forget, something I never want to forget,” she explained truthfully. “However that absolutely does not mean I don’t adore you, nor does it for a second mean I’m not completely in love with you.”

Peggy wanted to still be afraid, part of her probably was still afraid, but the way Angie looked at her, so hopeful, so happy, so _in love_ she was able to let go of it all, even if it was only just of now, just while the storm clouds rolled over the city and they remained in their bubble.

-.-.-.-

Angie had always loved storms; they made her feel safe, alive, and happy. They made her feel like nothing else in the world could possibly matter.

Now though as the storm raced on outside Peggy’s bedroom window there was one other thing that mattered. Peggy’s light, even breaths against her collarbone, Peggy’s arm around her bare waste, Peggy’s legs wrapped in her own. This was what mattered right now, and Angie swore to remind herself of that every day for the rest of her life.

**Author's Note:**

> The temptation to write a sequel to this is real... but the amount of college work I have is also very real


End file.
